Chapter 14: Breaking Up

The day that Neville learned to conjure a Patronus was Remus's last day off for a long time. The battle at the Ministry had unleashed a new phase in Voldemort's campaign for power; as Remus had predicted months ago, sitting on a London park bench, things began to get much worse. Remus heard, with faint incredulity, of the Death Eaters' "hurricane" in the West Country. He heard, with mounting anger, of the collapse of the Brockdale Bridge. He heard, with cold, stabbing fear, of the locked-room murder of Amelia Bones, one of the most gifted witches of her generation.

His head hurt constantly, and he was having a lot of violent dreams.

Tonks, who had seemed cheerful the day she was released from St. Mungo's, turned glummer and glummer as each edition of the Daily Prophet brought more and more bitter news. She wanted, Remus knew, to be hunting Death Eaters, Bellatrix Lestrange for choice, but she had been overruled; stealth and tracking was not her strength, and much of the Order doubted Tonks had the necessary detachment to trail Bellatrix properly. Instead, she had been assigned to monitor the activities of Rufus Scrimgeour, former head of the Auror Office, now Minister of Magic. Scrimgeour, who calculated the press's potential response to every move and liked no one, nevertheless thought Tonks was a cute little girl and threw her sundry noncommittal observations as one might throw bones to a favorite dog. His attitude of indulgent condescension was not calculated to improve Tonks's temper. Though Tonks picked up several useful tidbits, she continued to chafe at her enforced inactivity. She spent all her spare time sitting around Molly's kitchen with her head in her hands, drinking cup after cup of weak tea. Her hair was once again fading mousy brown. She was having trouble with her morphing. Molly advised Remus that Tonks was embarrassed about it and it was better not to mention it.

"The only bit of fun I've had since June was raiding the Malfoys," complained Tonks to Remus after dinner one night, as they walked out through the fields behind the Burrow in the fading July sun. "And that was under Ministry auspices. Six of us went, and we found a ghoul, a talking skeleton, and a bunch of cursebooks that would hardly fool a Muggle. Very exciting afternoon."

"Arthur told me once that the Malfoys keep their prized possessions under the living room floor."

"Arthur came along, and we tore up the floorboards," said Tonks. "Nothing. Other than that it's been paperwork, paperwork, paperwork . . . Robards doesn't trust me to do anything. He treats me like a bloody teenaged secretary."

"It may not be an issue of doubting your abilities, Tonks. It may be an issue of doubting your loyalties. Remember how Kingsley got 'kicked upstairs'?"

"I thought the whole point of my monitoring Scrimgeour was that he wasn't supposed to have any notion that I was anything more than I seemed. Or is that assignment just pap the Order is feeding me to make me feel better?"

"No," said Remus firmly. "It was a surprise appointment. We don't know nearly as much as we need to about Scrimgeour. And you got stuck with the assignment because you were the only one who seemed likely to discover anything of use."

"The only thing that old vampire is up to is promoting himself so that he won't get toppled like Fudge," muttered Tonks grumpily.

"Tonks, if you keep referring to Scrimgeour as a vampire, people are going to start believing he actually is one."

Tonks shrugged. "I don't like doing nothing," she said in a more balanced tone, throwing herself down on the grass. Remus knelt beside her. "I just keep thinking about Sirius. And why it hurts so much. I know I told you in hospital that he felt like a big brother to me. A brother who would tease and rile me. But in some ways he also felt like a little brother that I could fuss over and discipline and tuck in. It was a nice fantasy. I always wanted a brother. Or possibly several brothers and a sister," she added, plucking blades of grass. "I like big families."

"Your parents didn't want any more children?"

"The Healers told them not to have any more."

"Why not?"

"I'm a Metamorphmagus. They used to think it was hereditary." Remus waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. "I'm living on borrowed time anyway," she muttered after a minute, sitting up.

"Aurors always feel like that. I've heard even Muggle soldiers feel like that. But it's not true, Tonks. There will be a life after the war. Especially for those who are young, like you." Remus paused. "And even for those like me, who aren't."

"You're ancient, you are," said Tonks, with a ghost of a smile.

"I've outlived most of the best wizards and witches of my generation," said Remus. "Or at any rate that's what it feels like. All the best ones I knew."

Tonks said nothing. It was only that morning that they had heard about Emmeline Vance. She fingered the back of his hand, playing connect the dots with his freckles and his scars.

"Of course, there is the rising generation," said Remus, after a minute. "You."

"Harry."

"Hermione."

"Neville," said Tonks, smiling.

"Neville," acknowledged Remus. He realized, abruptly, that Neville's image now came clearly to him, an almost grown-up soldier in Dumbledore's Army, with frailties and strengths and individual foibles clearly sketched in his mind, even as Frank and Alice—who had been so kind to him in those dim and distant days before Neville's birth—were fading into cloudy abstraction.

"I was happy in the last war," said Remus with emphasis. "It's crazy, but I was. I didn't like fighting as much as Sirius did. But as long as I could fight Voldemort, I had a purpose in life. The Order needed me; it almost didn't matter that I was a werewolf. I never felt so lucky. And then one grim autumn week and bang: James dead, Lily dead, Peter dead, and Sirius Black, a vicious murderer sentenced to life in Azkaban. A world had been destroyed."

He paused and impulsively slipped his hand over hers. "At least we were wrong about Sirius. And when he died, he died well—fighting for a cause he believed in and a person he loved. One of my bitterest thoughts after James and Lily died was that they died thinking that I was the one who had betrayed them. I suppose, actually, they realized it was Peter in the end."

"What did you do after the war?" she asked softly.

"Well, I slept for a month. I slept practically straight through from one transformation to the next, except for the hours I spent replaying my friends' murders in my head. There just didn't seem to be anything worth getting out of bed for. Then Dumbledore sent for me. He told me what had been done for Harry. He told me that someday Harry was going to want and need to talk to me, because I was the only one of his father's friends left. And then he told me that he had arranged some private tutoring jobs for me, and I was to start immediately. I traveled around to wizarding families whom Dumbledore thought might be in danger and gave them refresher lessons on Defense against the Dark Arts. Then later I started working with children—children who had failed their OWLs or younger children who just needed to be taught how to control their magical abilities so they wouldn't make too much mayhem before they got to Hogwarts." Remus paused. "I think Dumbledore assigned me to work with children deliberately. He realized that it was eating me up that I couldn't have any."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, well, if I had been healthy, I would have liked to have had a son or a daughter or two—or maybe six. It set in more deeply as I got older, after my friends died, after my parents died. An idle daydream."

"Is it hereditary?"

"Lycanthropy? No. But it doesn't matter. So many werewolves bite their own children."

"That was before the Wolfsbane Potion was invented."

Remus shook his head. "A lot of werewolves bite their children intentionally, Tonks. They get jealous, because the children are healthy and they aren't."

"You wouldn't do that."

"I don't know what I would or wouldn't do. No, I wouldn't bite a child deliberately. I wouldn't bite anyone deliberately. But it's murder, being dependent month in and month out on some complicated potion you don't even know how to make, and knowing that it's the only thing keeping you from destroying those you love. A werewolf really isn't fit to be responsible for anyone."

Tonks brushed his cheek. "I think you would make a good father."

"Thank you. But you know that no woman in her right mind would marry a werewolf."

"I would."

Remus stared at her, more startled than surprised. He should have seen this coming.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I know I shouldn't have said that. I always let my tongue run away with me." She pulled her hand away.

"Tonks—you must know by now—if there were any way I could marry a woman—but there isn't."

"I really don't understand why not."

"You simply don't understand the risk."

"I understand risk. I just don't mind it very much."

"That's ridiculous, Tonks. You have a long and happy life ahead of you." Remus sighed. "After the war. And it is going to be bad, and there are going to be more deaths. But it will end someday, and you will meet the sort of man you deserve . . . You're an exceptionally gifted witch, endowed with a brilliant mind and special powers, and bravery, and kindness. You've got the world at your feet. Make smart choices."

Tonks laughed hollowly. "I think you see me through rose-colored glasses, Remus."

"I'm not the only one who thinks you're brilliant. Alfred Bones told me you were a living marvel."

"You've been discussing me with Alfred Bones?" Tonks sounded startled and not particularly pleased.

"Just in passing."

"Oh."

"What?"

"That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Why you didn't actually learn anything."

Remus felt slightly annoyed. Heart-to-hearts were all very well, and he understood why Tonks was momentarily angry, but at the moment she was the one who was failing to understand or learn anything. He was tempted to tell her that she would benefit from an intelligent discussion with Alfred Bones.

"Tonks," he said firmly, "I can't."